


Come in from the Cold

by antonomasia09



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Clone Trooper Colony (Star Wars), Hurt Jon Antilles, M/M, Order 66 Didn't Happen (Star Wars), Post-Clone Wars (Star Wars), Rex is such a good, Torrent Company Lives (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antonomasia09/pseuds/antonomasia09
Summary: Rex finds an injured stranger in the barn.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Torrent Company, Jon Antilles/CT-7567 | Rex
Comments: 16
Kudos: 114
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	Come in from the Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alyyks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/gifts).



> Happy SW Rare Pairs! :D
> 
> This was not the fic I thought I was going to write, but I was inspired by the "cryptid Jedi" prompt, and here we are! Jon's characterization is very much inspired by blackkat's take on him.

“The Jedi came by last night,” Fives says, doing his best to sound casual and utterly failing. “I put out some uj cake and blue milk, and it was gone this morning.”

“Hardcase probably got hungry and wanted a snack,” Rex says, dubious. “Or an animal got to it.”

“ _Or,_ ” Fives says, “the Jedi knows to come here because there will be food.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray tooka,” Rex rolls his eyes. “Even if he existed, you wouldn’t be able to tame him just by offering him leftovers.”

“He does exist,” Fives insists. “Kix and Jesse saw a man in a dark cloak in the fields the other day, and Echo remembers a hooded figure pulling him out of the way just before the shuttle exploded on Lola Sayu.”

It’s a familiar argument, and neither of them are likely to budge. For all that Rex would like to believe that the 501st had some sort of mythical Jedi guardian angel watching over them during the war and beyond, he saw too many casualty reports, recited too many remembrances. The rest of Torrent might think that their mysterious protector ended the war by exposing the Chancellor as a traitor, somehow persuaded the Senate to recognize the clones as sentient beings, and got them access to a planet in the Outer Rim where they could live their lives in peace, and…Rex agrees that all of those things are miraculous and wonderful and still hardly feel real, but. They were the work of many people, not a single cryptid Jedi whose mission in life was to protect one specific battalion.

Rex takes one last sip of his caff, grimaces at the chemical aftertaste, and deposits the mug in the sanitizer. There’s an abundant supply of fresh fruits and vegetables from the farms dotting the countryside, but the colony is still buying processed food cheaply and in bulk, mainly from the manufacturers that had supplied the GAR. “We both have work to do,” he says pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Fives says, but he cleans up his empty plate and follows Rex out into the blazing sunshine where Echo is already out in the fields, crouched down to examine a plant.

Farming on this planet is exhausting, back-breaking work even for clones bred and trained to peak physical condition. Much of the ground is too rocky or steep for standard equipment to handle, so they have to work the land themselves by hand.

Rex loves it. He can throw himself into the work, let his mind go numb, and at the end of the day nobody is dead and his efforts have produced a tangible result.

The ARC’s are only here because the rest of Torrent decided to come, Rex knows. But neither of them was ever meant to be a farmer, and in light of that, Fives’ desire for a mystery to solve, prey to catch, makes sense. Rex doesn’t know how much longer they’ll last here before the itch to _get out and do something_ grows too strong, but he can’t help wanting to keep them close for as long as they’ll let him.

Today he devotes to clearing a patch of stones to the northwest. By the time the sun dips down near the horizon, he is seriously considering taking Hardcase up on his offer to modify some of the explosives he kept around after the war, but first he needs to feed, water, and milk the eopies. 

They snuffle with excitement in their pens when Rex enters the barn and flips on the lights. He’s tired enough that he almost doesn’t catch the movement out of the corner of his eye as a figure scrambles to hide in the shadows, but Rex has lived a life of justified paranoia, and without conscious thought he whirls around and points the blaster pistol that he still carries with him straight at the intruder, who freezes.

“Who are you and what are you doing on my farm?” Rex demands.

The figure takes a step forward into the light, and Rex can hardly believe what he’s seeing. Dark cloak that he supposes vaguely resembles a Jedi’s robe if said Jedi were to regularly shove their way through bramble patches and then never bother to repair or clean it. Deep hood pulled all the way up so that Rex can’t get more than a glimpse of a humanoid nose and mouth, and one pale hand pressed against his side, where the ragged cloak looks wet and dark.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just…”

“You’re the one who’s been eating Fives’ uj cake,” Rex blurts, and the man ducks his head. 

“Sorry,” he says again.

Nothing in his body language is reading as a threat; he seems entirely conciliatory, and more wary of Rex than Rex is of him. He also looks like he might fall over if Rex so much as breathes near him. Rex lowers his blaster and holsters it, but keeps his hand near it just in case it’s a trick. 

“No, don’t be,” Rex says. “I think it was actually meant for you.” That gets him an utterly bewildered head tilt, which Rex ignores, not actually wanting to explain Fives’ entire conspiracy theory. “What happened to you?”

“I heard rumors there was a chrysalid threatening nearby farms,” the man says. “Wanted to see if I could help.”

Rex had heard those rumors too. Knows that Cody organized a hunting party to see if they could get rid of it, but last he heard there was no trace of it. That still doesn’t explain what an outsider is doing on their planet in the first place, nor why he would choose to help them.

Rex doesn’t call him on it, though. From what he can see, the wound wasn’t made by any weapon wielded by one of his brothers, which means that either it did come from an animal, or from something else. Either way, if he hasn’t picked a fight with anybody, it’s not Rex’s business.

He raises an eyebrow. “I take it, it didn’t go as planned,” he says, and the man huffs a laugh.

“I killed it,” he says.

This isn’t the first time a chrysalid has popped up. Normally it takes an entire squad to kill one; if this man really has accomplished it on his own, Rex is impressed. “Have you got a name?” Rex prompts, since he only got a vague answer to half of his initial question.

The man hesitates long enough that Rex starts to think the answer might be _no_ before replying, “Jon Antilles.”

That’s a fake name if ever Rex has heard one, not that he or his brothers are really in any position to judge what a person wants to be called. It’s not worth pressing either, although Rex would admit to being mildly surprised that someone who’s good enough at sneaking around to have built up a reputation as a cryptid can’t come up with a more convincing lie.

“I’m Rex,” he says.

There’s something Jon isn’t telling him, that’s obvious, but Rex likes to think of himself as a good judge of character, and apart from the initial scare, this man doesn’t seem like he means any harm.

He weighs the balance between inviting Jon into the house where Fives will be insufferable that his legendary “Jedi” does exist, and being able to throw the fact that this is just an ordinary man in Fives’ face.

“Listen,” Rex says. “I live with a medic, and he should be home from the clinic by now. He can take a look at that injury for you, if you’d like.”

“I’m fine,” Jon says immediately, but sways on his feet a little.

“You wouldn’t owe us anything,” Rex says. “He’d be excited about the change of pace honestly; these days, most of his patients are brothers that drank a little too much or dropped something heavy on their foot. We’ve got more uj cake too, if you want some.”

Jon ducks his head again, but gives a tiny nod, and slowly follows Rex back to the farmhouse.

The sun has fully set by now, but the lights are on inside, bright and cheery, and Rex can hear the boisterous sound of Torrent company in high spirits as they get close. Jon slows down, hearing it too, and Rex can read anxiety in the hunch of his shoulders and the tension of the fingers still pressed against his side.

“You want to wait outside?” Rex says. “I can get Kix and bring him out.”

Jon nods again, and this time Rex detects distinct relief. He helps Jon settle on the steps leading up to the front door, and then goes inside, blinking to adjust to the light and breathing in deep to enjoy the smell of the roast Dogma and Tup have prepared.

He finds the rest of Torrent seated around the table, joking and laughing, elbowing one another, and fighting over the contents of their plates.

“You were out late today,” Echo says, and Rex just nods. 

“Kix,” he says, and Kix takes one look at his face and puts down his fork, pushing away from the table. 

Jesse takes the opportunity to swipe Kix’s slice of rehydrated bread, but everyone else goes quiet when Kix asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Found a stranger in the barn that could use some medical attention,” Rex says, and isn’t sure whether to be proud of or irritated by the fact that none of his men question his judgement. “Wound on his side, probably from an animal. Not sure if it’s from teeth or claws; I couldn’t see it well.”

“I’ll get my medkit,” Kix says, and disappears upstairs.

Rex grabs two plates and starts loading them. He promised Jon cake, but if Jon’s been hungry enough to eat the snacks that Fives has been leaving out at night, then he certainly hasn’t been getting enough real food.

Kix returns just as he finishes, carrying his medkit and a lantern, and Rex leads him outside to where he left Jon.

He half expects Jon to have vanished in the handful of minutes he was alone, but Jon is still sitting there slumped on the steps. The wound must have been worse than Rex realized; maybe he shouldn’t have made Jon walk all the way to the farmhouse.

“Jon,” he calls quietly, and when Jon doesn’t respond, Rex gently touches his shoulder.

The reaction is instantaneous. Jon throws himself backwards, falling off the steps to land on the dusty ground, an agonized cry tearing itself from his throat. Behind Rex, Kix makes an upset noise.

“Easy, easy,” Rex comes closer but doesn’t try to touch again. “It’s just me,” he says. “And I brought Kix.”

For a long moment, Jon just stares up at him. Finally, he says, “Rex?”

“Yeah,” Rex says. “Will you let Kix take a look at you?”

Another long pause, and then Jon nods. 

“Thank you,” Kix says. Rex puts his plates down so that he can take the lantern Kix hands him, holding it up to give Kix light as he opens his medkit.

“I’m going to need to take your cloak off,” Kix tells Jon, who grimaces faintly but starts fumbling for the clasp. Kix helps him ease it off completely.

Rex isn’t entirely sure what he expected to see under the cloak, but he’s not prepared for a handsome, strong-boned human face marked by silvery scars, and long dark hair dangling half-loose from a nerf-tail. Jon ducks his head like he wants to hide it.

When Kix raises up Jon’s shirt, there are indeed claw marks running down Jon’s side, raw and inflamed and infected. Kix hisses, and Rex sucks in a breath.

“I thought I’d healed it,” Jon says softly. “But the claws must have been poisoned, and I didn’t realize until it had gotten bad again.”

“Wait, what do you mean you thought you healed it?” Rex says.

“All things are possible in the Force,” Jon says, steady even as Kix starts applying bacta.

Rex shakes his head. No, there’s no way. “You’re a _Jedi?_ ” he asks, incredulous. “Fives was actually right?”

“I am a Jedi, yes,” Jon confirms with a small smile.

Rex resists the urge to groan. Fives is going to be insufferable for _days_.

“If we had known you were here, we would have found you a better place to sleep than the barn.“ The war is over and the clones are no longer required to follow the Jedi, but old habits die hard. And…Rex watched Jedi throw themselves between blaster bolts and his brothers. Watched some of them fall so that his brothers would live. Providing for the Jedi isn’t just an obligation, it’s something he _wants_ to do.

“There was no need,” Jon says.

“There is, actually,” Kix says, applying a bandage over the bacta. “Sleeping in unsanitary conditions is partly why the infection got so bad. I’d like you to stay with us, at least for the night, so that I can keep an eye on you.”

Jon opens his mouth, looking like he’s going to decline, but Rex raises an eyebrow and says, “Survival tip: don’t ever try to argue with the medic.”

Jon gives a faint smile. “Understood,” he says, but when he glances again at the house, his apprehension is clear.

Kix repacks his medkit and stands, taking the lantern back from Rex. “I’ll make sure the others don’t try to bother you,” he says.

“Thank you,” Jon says quietly, and Kix grins.

“My pleasure,” he says, and disappears inside.

“Ready?” Rex says, and at Jon’s nod, helps the other man to his feet and hands him his cloak. He’s already standing straighter as the bacta does its job of driving out the infection and reducing the swelling. 

Rex scoops up the plates he’d brought out, and leads Jon inside.

The farmhouse was built by the natborns who lived in it before the clones settled on this planet, and therefore, technically, has bedrooms. Torrent tried sleeping in them for all of one night before giving up and migrating down to the common space on the first floor, preferring be on the couches and on top of one another, feeling their brothers’ heartbeats and listening to their breathing and knowing they’re alive and safe. 

But General Skywalker and Commander Tano had always had private bunks on the Resolute, and General Kenobi told Rex once about their living spaces in the Temple, so Rex directs Jon up to the second floor, letting Jon lean on his shoulder as they climb the stairs, and into the closest bedroom.

Jon perches gingerly on the unmade bed, cloak clutched in his lap. Rex sets one of the plates of food down on the dresser, and hands Jon the other one. “Here,” he says. “Eat this. I’ll go find sheets.” He’s pretty sure they have some in one of the closets.

Jon takes the plate but makes no move to start eating, just stares up at Rex, his face displaying a complicated mix of emotions. “Why are you doing this?” he says.

“Doing what?”

“This, all of this,” Jon says with a vague hand wave. “Giving me medical treatment, food, letting me stay in your home.”

Rex frowns at him. “Why wouldn’t I?” he says.

“You don’t even know me,” Jon says.

“But you needed help,” Rex tells him. “And I could.”

Jon still seems confused, like he doesn’t understand why Rex didn’t just leave him bleeding in the barn, and Rex isn’t sure if he should be insulted by that or not, but…judging by his scars, Jon has obviously been through a lot. Probably more than most Jedi, even if he doesn’t look much older than General Kenobi. It’s understandable if he’s learned not to expect kindness from strangers.

Rex steps closer and puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder, telegraphing the move clearly. Jon still twitches a little when Rex’s hand gets near his face, tenses when he makes contact, but after a moment he slumps forward, leaning into Rex’s touch ever so slightly. 

“Eat your food,” Rex says. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He gives Jon’s shoulder a light squeeze, and then goes to hunt down the spare bedding.

It turns out it’s not in either of the closets he expected it to be in, but rather mixed in with their winter gear in the basement. By the time he’s located it and poked his head in the common room to ask Jesse to take care of the eopies and let Kix know that he’ll stay with Jon tonight (no need for Kix to lose sleep), at least half an hour has passed. 

“Sorry I took so long,” Rex says as he enters the bedroom, arms full of sheets, plus a datapad with Waxer’s latest novel on it. “I was…” he stops because Jon isn’t sitting on the bed anymore, but there’s a lump wrapped in a ragged cloak tucked into the far corner of the room on the floor.

“Jon?” Rex says, and the lump shifts, a sleepy head poking out. “I don’t think this is what Kix was hoping for when we invited you to sleep here.”

Jon goes tense enough that Rex can see it across the room. “Sorry,” Jon says. “The bed was. Soft.”

“Oh,” Rex says. Cody said that General Kenobi had mentioned something similar once — after a month-long campaign on Sarrish, he felt uncomfortable sleeping in a real bed. Cody had thought that this was just another excuse by his general to avoid getting rest, but Rex thinks Kenobi might have had a point. And if Jon has been sleeping in barns, it has probably been a long time since he had a bed.

“Can I give you these at least?” Rex holds the sheets out to Jon. “Make you a little more comfortable?”

Jon looks uncertainly between the sheets and Rex’s face for a moment before nodding hesitantly. “Thank you,” he says.

Rex deposits them into the hand that emerges from Jon’s cloak, and then goes over to the dresser to _finally_ eat his dinner. The food has long-since gone cold, but he’s hungry and it’s been a long day, and it’s still infinitely better than GAR rations. Jon’s plate is sitting next to his, scraped clean.

When he looks over again, Jon has cocooned himself in the sheets and curled up again, but his eyes are open, and he’s watching Rex.

“Go back to sleep,” Rex tells him. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Jon doesn’t say anything, but after a long moment, his eyes close and he buries his head underneath a sheet.

Rex finishes his food and then sits down on the floor himself, leaning against the wall and powering up the datapad.

Waxer’s novel is excellent, but Rex has had a long day, and he ends up drifting off in the middle of a sentence, coming awake with a start to sunlight on his face. There’s a blanket laid over him, and his datapad has been neatly laid at his side, and Jon is watching him from the corner with that complicated expression again.

“Morning,” Rex says, voice hoarse. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s fine,” Jon says.

“How are you feeling?” Rex asks.

“Better,” Jon says. Rex, who has dealt with both Generals Skywalker and Kenobi hiding injuries, isn’t completely convinced, but he’ll ask Kix to take a look before he goes in to work, and Kix will be able to tell how well Jon is healing.

“Good,” Rex says, and pulls himself to his feet with a groan. There’s a crick in his neck, and his _shebs_ have gone numb. “Do you prefer tea or caff?”

Jon blinks at him. “Caff,” he says, a bit unsure.

Rex just nods. “I’ll be back with breakfast and Kix,” he says. “You can sleep a little longer if you want to.”

Jon struggles upright, wincing slightly when he stretches the wound on his side. “I can help,” he says.

“You can help by resting,” Rex says. “Or, if you want, there’s a ‘fresher at the end of the hall. It’s got real running water. Just be careful of the bandages.”

Jon’s eyes are wide and he doesn’t answer, so Rex leaves him be and goes downstairs, hoping against hope that Fives won’t be awake yet.

Tragically, Fives is waiting for him at the kitchen table with a plate of toast and an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Go ahead and say it,” Rex sighs.

“Say what?” Fives smirks, and Rex just isn’t in the mood to play games.

“You were right and I was wrong, the Jedi is real and he’s been eating the food you left out for him,” Rex says. “Happy?”

“Extremely,” Fives says, and takes an obnoxiously large bite of toast.

Rex does his best to ignore his brother, starting up some caff and grabbing a handful of ration bars from the cabinet. Tup and Dogma have made it their mission in life to learn how to cook all the foods they never got a chance to eat before, and they’ve been doing remarkably well so far. Fives and Jesse have figured out how to make toast without burning down the house. The rest of them have been banned from touching any equipment in the kitchen other than the caff maker, the kettle, and the cooling unit after a handful of unfortunate instances. Maybe if Jon sticks around, though, Rex will be able to give him some more actual cooked food.

He pauses at the thought. Does he actually want Jon to stay?

The part of Rex that, even now, is eternally in Jedi-protection-mode wants to wrap Jon up in a blanket and feed him, and sit on him if he tries to get up before he’s properly healed. And then assign a squad to follow him around and keep him out of trouble once Kix has given him the go-ahead to be on his feet.

All he really knows about Jon is that he is a Jedi who fights chrysalids and doesn’t like to sleep in beds, and doesn’t expect to be treated with kindness. 

But Rex wants to know more — wants to find out what Jon enjoys doing when he’s not on a mission, what he looks like when he’s relaxed, how many different ways Rex can make him flash that small, secretive smile. What those scars would feel like if he traced them with his fingertips.

Rex realizes he’s been standing there staring at the ration bars in his hands for far too long when Fives gives a sharp, “ _Vod._ Vod!” and punches him in the shoulder.

“You okay?” Fives says.

“Fine,” Rex answers, and starts pouring the caff into three mugs.

Kix stumbles into the kitchen yawning just as Rex finishes, and Rex hands him one of the mugs, which Kix gulps down with no regard for how hot it is. 

“I take it he survived the night, then,” Kix says once he’s drained the last drop.

“He says he’s feeling better,” Rex says. “But you know Jedi.”

They share a long-suffering grimace. “I’ll take a look,” Kix says.

“Tell him there’s more uj cake!” Fives calls after them as they head upstairs.

They find Jon sitting on the bed in a meditation pose, the sheets Rex had given him neatly folded and stacked beside him, and his boots on the floor. His cloak is on but the hood is pulled back, and his long, straggly hair looks damp from the ‘fresher.

It looks like he’s taken Rex’s advice of “keep the medic happy” to heart, Rex thinks, amused. He won’t snitch and tell Kix that Jon didn’t actually spend the night in the bed.

He looks up when they come in, and Rex holds up the caff and ration bars. “For you, once Kix has finished checking the wound,” Rex says. “Sorry it’s not as good as last night; Tup and Dogma aren’t up yet.”

“I don’t…you don’t need to give me anything else,” Jon says. “I can’t even repay you for what you’ve already done.”

“I told you yesterday, no payment necessary,” Rex says. “Besides, Kix would be upset if you ruined all his hard work by starving to death.”

Kix nods. “It would be very rude,” he agrees. “Can I check on that laceration you got? I want to make sure the bacta is working as it should.”

“Yes,” Jon says, and sits still as Kix peels off a corner of the bandage to check on the gash underneath. To Rex’s surprise, the deep bloody marks from last night have already closed up, and faded to thin raised lines that might not even scar. 

“I take it this was your doing,” Kix says, sounding pleased.

“The bacta helped,” Jon says. 

“I’m glad,” Kix says. “I wish all my work went as well as this.”

Jon ducks his head to hide a shy smile. 

“Keep the bandage on for at least the rest of the day, just in case,” Kix tells him. “But it looks like you’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you,” Jon says.

“I’m going to head in to the clinic. Comm me if you need anything,” Kix says to Rex, and swipes a ration bar on the way out the door. Rex swats the back of his head lightly in retaliation with the rest of his handful of bars.

Jon twitches a little, watching the interaction, but when it’s clear they’re both just teasing, he relaxes.

“Here,” Rex says, giving Jon two of the remaining bars and one of the mugs of caff. He sits down on the bed next to Jon, leaving a careful distance between them, and puts his own mug on the floor so that he can rip open the last bar for himself. It’s dry and dull, but it’s filling, and Rex, who only ever ate these or bowls of nutritional slop for the majority of his life, has found that his stomach doesn’t do well with anything more flavorful in the mornings. He’s still a little embarrassed to have offered them to a Jedi, though — of course, the generals ate the same thing as their troops during the war, but Rex knew they didn’t enjoy it. 

Jon doesn’t seem to mind, though, devouring his first bar with the single-minded intensity of a man who hasn’t been getting regular meals. The second bar disappears into his cloak, and Rex wishes he’d grabbed a few more earlier. “There’s more food if you’re still hungry,” Rex says. “Fives asked me to tell you he’s got more uj cake, and we’ve got plenty of ration bars.”

Jon freezes, looking over at Rex, who’s only halfway through eating his breakfast. “I’m fine,” he says.

He looks nervous, like he’s waiting to be told he’s done something wrong, so Rex doesn’t push. “Now that you’ve gotten a clean bill of health from Kix, do you know what you want to do?” he says.

Jon shakes his head. “The Force is quiet,” he says. “I figured I would go to the spaceport and let it guide me.”

“You’re welcome to stay longer if you’d like,” Rex says, disappointed but not surprised that Jon plans to leave. “But if you want a ride to the spaceport, we’ve got a landspeeder in decent enough condition, and I could drive you.”

“Don’t you have work you need to do on the farm?”

“That’s the nice thing about farm work,” Rex says. “Nothing is life-or-death. It can wait. And it’s a long walk to the spaceport, even if you’re feeling better.” And driving Jon there will give Rex a few more minutes with him, he doesn’t add.

“Then…yes. Please. If you don’t mind,” Jon says.

“Not at all,” Rex says. He finishes off his ration bar and crumples up the wrapper. “I can take you whenever you’re ready.”

“I just need to put my boots on,” Jon says and uncrosses his legs, sliding off the bed gracefully. 

Rex gathers up the breakfast detritus while Jon puts his shoes on, and they go downstairs together.

“Hang on,” Rex says, and ducks into the kitchen to throw away their wrappers and sanitize the mugs. He also grabs another handful of ration bars, some water bottles, and a wrapped slice of uj cake that someone (undoubtedly Fives) left out on the table.

“For later,” he says, pressing them into Jon’s hands when Jon tries to refuse.

The landspeeder starts up once Rex kicks it just right, and offers a hand to help Jon climb in. Jon takes it, gripping strongly, and Rex can feel the callouses on his palms. He resists the urge to brush his thumb over Jon’s knuckles when he lets go.

Most of the ride is spent in comfortable silence, but when they get close to the spaceport, Rex can’t help asking, “Do you think you’ll come back?”

“I don’t know,” Jon says. A small smile curves his lips. “Your planet _does_ have a chrysalid problem.”

“We do,” Rex agrees, and he never thought he would be grateful to the Sith for anything, but here he is. “If you come back, you’re welcome to stay with us again,” he says. “Tup and Dogma have been working on perfecting their red gourd soup — maybe they’ll have figured it out by then.”

“I’d like that,” Jon says, and Rex has to turn away to hide a private smile of his own.


End file.
